


As alone as a little white church in the middle of the desert getting burned

by tigriswolf



Series: meme fics [35]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Minor Character Death, Red String of Fate, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never loses color, though he does not know what they <i>mean</i>. Grass is green, the sky is blue, his left arm and hand are silver, the star on his silver shoulder and blood are both red, his skin is a pale peach save for the silver arm, he is always clothed in black. There are bands around his wrists, fine as hair, that are as red as blood, and they chain him to the technicians and the handlers and the ever-changing men who give the orders he must follow. There is one band, on his right wrist, that is not red – it is a blue so faded it barely has any color at all. He does not know what it means. He does not ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As alone as a little white church in the middle of the desert getting burned

**Author's Note:**

> Title: As alone as a little white church in the middle of the desert getting burned  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Fall Out Boy  
> Warnings: AU during Winter Soldier; mentions of torture/death/brainwashing  
> Pairings: Steve/Bucky  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 2040  
> Point of view: third  
> Note: The prompt is going to be in the end notes. Also, I hope the pronoun use doesn’t get confusing.

He never loses color, though he does not know what they _mean_. Grass is green, the sky is blue, his left arm and hand are silver, the star on his silver shoulder and blood are both red, his skin is a pale peach save for the silver arm, he is always clothed in black. There are bands around his wrists, fine as hair, that are as red as blood, and they chain him to the technicians and the handlers and the ever-changing men who give the orders he must follow. There is one band, on his right wrist, that is not red – it is a blue so faded it barely has any color at all. He does not know what it means. He does not ask. 

.

The target, Steven Grant Rogers, has blue eyes. They fight, evenly matched, and the blue band on his wrist glows so brightly it is blinding – but he does not hesitate or flinch or give way at all, even as it burns. The target hesitates, for just a moment, eyes going to his own wrist, the left, but then he is down, mask falling from his face, and when he turns, the target’s blue _blue_ eyes widen and a string of that same blue goes from his right wrist to the target’s left. 

“Bucky?” the target asks, eyes wide, mouth open, and the world drops away for just one moment as his eyes follow the blue string. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he asks in the same language as the target, and each word hits like a bullet, the target flinching. 

Then the target’s allies (one of them a target herself) come to his aid, and so he runs. 

The blue string follows.

.

Red shackles bind him to the technicians, to the handlers, to the guards with their guns, to the man demanding a report. The man who slaps him. 

The target’s eyes were blue. There is a single string of blue around his right wrist, and it stretches out of the room. He could follow it to the target, to Steven Grant Rogers, ask who _Bucky_ is. 

He asks, “The man on the bridge… who was he?” 

The answer he is given is a lie. The bands of red thicken, gleaming like blood. He follows the strings; every single person in the room has red on their wrists. Red as his star. 

“But I knew him,” he says. 

The bands of red thicken. 

The technicians have harmed him more than he can remember. The guards have hurt him even when he followed orders, even though he never fought back. (He could fight back.) The man with the orders – he _lied_.

What does red mean? Red as his star, red as blood, red as… a skull? That is… 

“Prep him,” the man says, and one of the technicians argues, and the red is thickening into rivers, the target’s eyes were _blue_ , so blue, blue as the sky, blue as the band shining on his right wrist –

He looks at them all, the guards with their guns, the technicians with their fear, the man who _lied_ , and then he moves.

No one in this room is a threat, is anywhere near as fast or as strong, and one by one, the red bands around his wrists drip to the floor.

The technicians try shouting, but he does not listen; the man with the orders, too, but he does not hear over the screams, over the guns roaring. They all die. 

There are other red strings, stretching throughout the building. He follows them until there are no red strings left, only the blue, gleaming brightly. 

He must follow the blue string, but first he must blend in. He searches the building seeking clothes and finds garments that are an ill-fit but also do not stand out the way his tactical gear does. 

Around his right wrist, the blue pulses gently. He does not know what it means, but he finds it soothing. He arms himself and then he follows the blue string. 

.

The target, Steven Grant Rogers, is standing on a bridge, staring at the horizon. There is a blue string around his wrist, glowing bright against the spreading darkness as the sun sets. 

“What does blue mean?” he asks, and the target – no longer the target? – Rogers turns, those blue eyes so wide. 

“Bucky?” Rogers says, stepping towards him, but he falls back, left hand on one of his guns. “Okay, okay, easy,” Rogers says, holding his hands up, stepping back. 

“What does blue mean?” he asks again after a moment, letting his hand fall away from the gun. 

“I… I asked you that, once,” Rogers answers. “I, I’d been colorblind, you know, so after the serum, when I found you again, I saw that we matched. Not every match – there’s colors for deep friendship, for family, for enemies, and then for, for…” Rogers’ voice trails off, those blue eyes staring at him. He stares back. “I asked you what the blue meant, the morning after I found you, and you said it meant we were brothers.” 

Every word sounds like the truth, and Rogers has tears streaming down his face. 

“What does red mean?” he asks. 

Rogers closes his eyes, inhales sharply. “For us,” he says, voice suddenly a bit thick, “it always meant enemies.” 

He nods firmly. That fits.

But – “The strings between you and your allies were green. What does that mean?” 

Rogers stares at him again, blue eyes wide. Then Rogers smiles, so happily that he steps back again in shock. “Bucky,” he says, “oh, Bucky, I missed you so much.” 

He does not know how to reply, so he remains silent. Rogers continues, “Green means friends, true friends. The Commandos were green.” 

“Blue is family?” he asks, glancing away from Rogers long enough to verify they are still alone. They are. 

Rogers shakes his head. “Ma was violet, you told me. So were your folks and your little sisters.” 

That does not fit. “Then what is blue?” 

Rogers’ smile is shaky, now, and there are more tears on his face but he does not wipe them away. The sun has fully set, the blue bands on their wrists nearly blinding in the night. “The colors are different for everybody. Only… only soulmates share colors. You can find love without them, that’s what people say. You and I, Bucky…” He brings his left hand up to his face, rubs at his cheek. “You told me we’d always been blue. That we were brothers, friends for life. ‘til the end of the line.” 

He steps forward. The blue is pulsing gently and he tries to touch the river between them but his fingers slide through it, and he looks back at Rogers’ blue eyes. “Then it would be green,” he says, and Rogers nods slowly. 

“I killed them,” he says, “everyone who was red.” 

Rogers jerks his head up. “Do you know their names?” 

He knows all of their names. He lists them alphabetically in the language they’ve been speaking, and when he gets to _Pierce, Alexander_ , Rogers lets out a little sound of shock, so he pauses. 

“Bucky,” Rogers says, “can you come to the team with me? They need to know this.” 

_Bucky_. It sounds blue. It’s better than being nameless. 

“If any of them are red,” Bucky says, “I will kill them.” 

“They weren’t red for me,” Rogers tells him. “I don’t think they’ll be red for you.” 

Bucky simply looks at him in silence. Rogers finally nods. “But let me try to talk first, okay?” 

They stand on the bridge in silence until Bucky nods. He slowly steps closer, reaching with his right hand, and Rogers, even more slowly, reaches out his left hand. When their fingers touch, the blue explodes, streaking up their arms in a bright bolt of warmth to their hearts, before returning to the bands around their wrists. 

Rogers laughs; it sounds a little broken. “It did that the first time we ever met,” he says, fingers tight around Bucky’s. “You told me it was blue, just like my eyes, and I trusted you. I’ve always trusted you.” 

Bucky… Bucky gently tugs him forward, wanting contact that does not hurt, and Rogers seems to understand. He slowly puts his free arm around Bucky’s back, tucking their joined hands up against their chests. He whispers, “I saw how blue your eyes were, after I got you out. I knew then, Bucky.” His face is buried in Bucky’s shoulder and he says again, “I knew then.” 

.

None of Rogers’ team are red, though one of them should be dead. 

None of Rogers’ team trust him, but he sees now that one of the allies, the woman with red hair, has a slight green string that connects to a barely-there band on his left wrist. He stares at it, then her, while Rogers explains a convoluted, unbelievable story. 

Bucky stands quietly beside him, their fingers still tangled together, the blue still pulsing warmly. 

“Oh, what the fuck ever,” the not-dead target finally says. “We’re still breathing, so I guess he’s friendly now.” 

“Sir,” the other woman says, “We can’t just –”

“Hill,” Nicholas Joseph Fury says, “we don’t have any choice.” His eye flicks to Bucky and Rogers’ joined fingers. “We’ll have to trust that Cap knows what he’s doing.”

Natalia Alianovna Romanoff (that name is not right, _not right_ , how does he know that?) smiles at them, eyes following that green string. She says nothing, but her hands are empty. Rogers’ other ally just shakes his head, sighing. 

.

As they fight their way to the helicarriers, Bucky stays with Rogers. The loyal SHIELD agents help from the air and on the ground; the first chip is successfully exchanged and so they make their way to the remaining helicarrier. 

It is perhaps the easiest mission Bucky can remember. He doesn’t trust it.

When the agents attack out of nowhere, he is not surprised. Angry, yes, but not at all surprised. “Go!” he shouts at Rogers, immediately on the offensive, and Rogers hesitates for just a moment before steeling himself and hurrying towards the targeting system. 

The agents are clearly more than human, but they are also young. They are fast and they are strong – he’s faster and stronger. He beats them all into the ground and then Rogers is back, and he shouts, “We have to get out of here, Bucky!” so Bucky hurries to his side, leaving them where they fell. Some of them are even still alive. 

“Hill, fire!” Rogers barks into the com, his left hand reaching for Bucky. “C’mon!” he tells Bucky, throwing his shield at one of the large glass panes. “Jump!” 

They fall together. 

.

“What will be done with me?” Bucky asks Rog-- _Steve_. They are sitting in Sam Wilson’s house, with Fury, Hill, Romanoff, and Wilson. Someone named Stark is currently arguing with Fury over the phone; someone named Coulson is having a discussion with Hill, also over the phone. Romanoff and Wilson are discussing places she should go on her quest for self-discovery. 

(Bucky’s hearing is much better than anyone but Steve suspects.)

Steve’s hand is warm in his, both bathed in blue. “You were a prisoner of war, Bucky,” Steve says. “Absolutely nothing will be done with you.” 

Bucky notices the way Fury’s head turns slightly at that. Steve’s fingers squeeze Bucky’s gently. “Anyone who wants you,” he says, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “will have to go through me.”

The blue pulses in time with their heartbeats. Bucky nods, leaning in closer, and decides to trust that Steve will not lie to him. 

.

Bucky remembers blue and red and purple and green – he remembers a little boy with the bluest eyes, and the blue around both their wrists, left to right, and how he knew that they’d be together forever. 

He remembers the oceans of red, the decades he didn’t know what it meant. 

And he remembers – 

He remembers where Hydra hides. The body is writhing without a head, while a dozen surviving top-tier agents try to assume control. 

He’s giving himself missions, now, and he’s got Steve Rogers with him. Hydra doesn’t have a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so we know that MCU Steve used to be colour-blind. It's inconvenient in a world where there are intangible strings connecting you to the most significant people in your life. Your romantic soul-mate, your best friend, your mentor, etc. And they're all different colours. But Steve can't even see that the string connecting him to his best friend is the red of romantic soul-mates. And Bucky doesn't consider that Steve just can't tell; just assumes that Steve doesn't want him as a lover, so he sticks with friendship. And Steve thinks that whatever the string is connecting him to Bucky is the best friend colour, so...
> 
> Then after the serum, Steve can see the world in colour! But he doesn't know where Bucky is. But... colour! Now, if only he actually knew which of these colours is red... Because no one actually bothers to teach him what the colours look like. The grass is green, right? (Except they happen to in a place where the grass is brown from not being watered.) The sky is blue? (Except it's sunset, so the sky is actually purple and yellow and pink and cloudy.)
> 
> So when Steve and Bucky are back together again, Steve is still in the dark, and so happy about finding his best friend that he doesn't even think about asking what colour their string is. Best friends, right? So that's [insert colour]. (Which becomes inconvenient when he thinks that someone's blood is the wrong colour, because that's the friendship colour, and true love is red, just like blood is red, and... oh.)
> 
> And then Bucky dies. Steve studies up on the colours, angsts, crashes his plane, wakes up seventy years later, and so on.
> 
> The Winter Soldier knows about the colours from conversations he's heard, and he knows that the star on his metal arm is red. Red is for true love. So why is this man with a shield connected to him with the red string of fate?
> 
> TL,DR: Colour-blind!Steve doesn't realise that the string connecting him to Bucky is red, and doesn't study up on the colours until after Bucky dies. Years later, the Winter Soldier sees a red string connecting him to his enemy.


End file.
